The Older Woman (21 page)

He had a lot of things he wanted to say, but there was only one thing that mattered.

I love you, Kate.

If he could just get that said and make her believe it, then maybe the rest of it would take care of itself.

Mrs. Bee came back with the keys and the directions to Gwen’s house written on a sheet of pink notebook paper. “Good luck,” she said when she handed them over.

He smiled suddenly. Some knights had white chargers. He had a vintage Thunderbird.

“Thanks, Mrs. Bee. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“I think I do, Calvin.”

“Well. Here goes nothing—keep your fingers crossed for me.”

“I

will.”

“The church ladies, too.”

“That goes without saying, Calvin.”

He headed purposefully toward the back door, then stopped.

“Mrs. Bee? I want to ask you something.”

“What is it, Calvin?”

“I want to ask you about Michael Mont. About why you told Kate I reminded you of that guy.”

Mrs. Bee smiled. “Because God made you merry, Calvin. And no matter what happens, you still think life is worthwhile.”

Mrs. Bee’s vision of him caught him completely off guard. Did he think life was worthwhile? Maybe he did. He had his down moments, but thus far he supposed that he hadn’t stayed down.

But he was on the verge of staying down now.

Kate!

If she was sick again…

He had to wait a minute before he trusted his voice enough to say anything.

“Thanks, Mrs. Bee,” he said finally.

“Go find Katie,” she said.

Chapter Twelve

H
e went on his quest with the top down and the radio blaring, letting the music get him pumped up and ready for the ordeal ahead.

“Never

surrender…”

Hell, no!

“Lover…

Best

friend…

In my heart, in my soul….”

He didn’t have any problem finding the house; Mrs. Bee had given him good directions. It was still daylight when he got there, but just barely. He didn’t see Kate’s car anywhere, and he briefly considered abandoning the mission.

But only briefly. Her car could be around back or in the garage. And even if she was there, there was no guarantee that she would talk to him. Either way, he might still have to concentrate on the “weakest link.”

He pulled into the driveway and parked. It took him a little while to get out of the car. He’d managed the driving part, but getting out of those low seats was something else again.

He saw someone move aside the curtain in a front window as he hobbled up the curved sidewalk to the front door. The brick steps to the porch were steep and precarious, but he managed. He looked around before he rang the doorbell. It was nice out here—

plants and an old-fashioned glider with big yellow-flowered cushions. It was the kind of place Kate would enjoy.

He rang the doorbell, and he imagined the emotional—if not physical—scramble his being here must be causing on the other side of the door. But right or wrong, he was here. This was it.

It took a while, but the front door finally opened.

“Cal!” Gwen said as if she were surprised. “What are you doing here!” From the look on her face, it was a question she regretted immediately. She had thrown the door wide open in more ways than one.

“Hey, Gwen. Can I talk to Kate?”

There was no point in dragging it out. He was going to work from the assumption that she was on the premises, and apparently he was right, because it took Gwen a long time to answer.

“I…well…it’s—” She took a deep breath. “She doesn’t want to see you, Cal.”

“I just need to say a couple of things to her, and then I’ll go. Can you ask her if she’ll let me do that—let me say what I came to say?”

Gwen stood there, shifting from one foot to the other. He actually felt sorry for her. Clearly, go-between was not a job she relished.

“Please,” he said, and she sighed.

“I’ll ask her—but don’t get your hopes up.”

She closed the door. His legs were beginning to hurt, and he hobbled over to the glider and sat down.

And waited. It was a nice evening—less humid than usual—and there was a slight breeze. He could hear kids playing someplace nearby—skateboarding from the sound of it. He listened to them for a time, then to the squeak of the glider as he moved it back and forth.

He closed his eyes, trying to take Mrs. Bee’s earlier advice and figure out what he was going to say. The front door opened again, and Kate stepped out. Whatever speech he might have had in place completely dissipated.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. She had on some kind of long cotton dress with a slit up the side—some kind of beach or poolside thing. Her hair was loose and hanging to her shoulders. She brushed it away from her face, but not so she could see him better. He hadn’t realized that seeing her under these circumstances would hurt so much.

Ah, Kate.

“Nice wheels,” she said after a moment, but she wouldn’t look at him.

He smiled. “I guess you know where I got them. I…saw Julius today. The surgery’s off—for a while, anyway. But I guess you know that, too.”

She nodded absently and looked across the front yard toward the street. A car with a window-rattling speaker system went by.

“Gwen said you needed to talk to me,” she said after the car had passed, putting an end to the pleasantries she’d initiated.

“Are you okay?” he asked, because she was determined to avoid any eye contact, and he couldn’t tell.

She ignored the question.

“I want to know if you’re all right, Kate!”

She looked at him then; he could feel the effort it took for her to do it. “I don’t know,” she said. She gave a small shrug. “I haven’t heard from the biopsy yet.”

Oh, damn! Damn it!

He realized that she must be working from her own assumption—that she thought his coming here like this must mean that he somehow knew what was going on with her. And she meant to derail him with the unadulterated truth. He understood that immediately. But it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t the real estate guy.

He kept looking at her, trying to hold it together. It was every bit as bad as he had feared, and it was all he could do not to reach for her.

“I didn’t wake up this morning thinking I wanted to make things worse for you,”

he said finally. “I know you don’t want me here, so I’m just going to get it over with. All I want you to do is listen. I need to tell you this—because I’m not sure you understand how it is with me.

“See, I don’t care what people think about you and me being together. I don’t care about the age difference. I know how old you are, by the way. I was still a patient when they decorated the nurses’ station with black crepe paper and had that big four-oh party for you.

“I also don’t care that this thing started when both of us were on the rebound. I do care that maybe the cancer has come back. That worries the hell out of me—because I love you, Kate. That’s it. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Whether you like it or not. Whether it’s right or wrong or convenient. It doesn’t matter. I
love
you. Big joke, huh?

“It really hurt when you broke it off the way you did—but as bad as that was, it’s nothing compared to what I’m feeling right this minute—because I only just realized what you really think of me. See, I thought we were up front with each other. I thought you cared about me and you even trusted me a little. I thought there was more to us than just a good roll in the hay. But I was wrong about all that.”

“Cal—”

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t tell me what was happening with you! Did you think I was too dumb to get how scared you must be? I know how scared you are, Kate. I’m scared, too. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’m arrogant enough to think I might be able to help you through this stuff—and that’s because it was always easier for me when I wasn’t doing so good if
you
were around. Two-way street, you know?

“That night when Mrs. Bee got you out of the shower and made you come see about me. You said something about me forgiving myself. I thought you were going to say everything happens for a reason—and it made me mad, because I couldn’t see a reason for me to make it when the others died.

“But now I’m thinking maybe there is a reason. Maybe I made it so I’d be here for
you.
How do you like that for arrogance, Kate?”

He was making her cry—the last thing in this world he wanted to do. She wiped furtively at her eyes, but he didn’t stop.

“I’m not like your sorry-assed ex-husband or any of the rest of them. I thought you knew that. It hurts so
bad,
Kate, knowing you don’t want anything from me now when you’re—” He had to stop because his voice broke. He struggled to his feet. “That’s all I have to say—except that I hope everything turns out all right—the biopsy, I mean. I’m not going to make things worse for you. If you want me, you know where to find me.”

“Cal…this

is

my
problem.”

“Right. Oh, you might want to call Arley. I know she’s not authorized to be affected by this thing, either, but she’s pretty worried about what’s going on with you—in an Arley sort of way.”

He didn’t wait for her to say anything else. He dragged himself to the car and he didn’t even remember the trip. He was barreling down the highway in Thelma and Louise somehow, and he didn’t look back. Not once. He couldn’t—not if he intended to leave her. He
had
to leave her. She didn’t want him around. What else could he do?

Mrs. Bee was waiting up for him. She took one look at him, and the hopeful expression on her face died.

“I put Thelma and Louise back in the shed,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t think I broke anything.”

She didn’t say anything until he was halfway up the stairs.

“Calvin?”

He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “I gave it my best shot, Mrs. Bee.”

“I know you did…. Calvin?”

He gave a quiet sigh. “Yeah, Mrs. Bee?”

“You’re a good boy, Calvin.”

Oh, yeah, he thought. Him and Michael Mont. He hadn’t read the whole book, so he didn’t know how things worked out for the guy. Not good, he supposed. Those big, thick books with the jackets still on them were too much like real life. He

was

tired.
Too tired to even think anymore. It was all he could do to drag the rest of the way up the stairs. The cat came from somewhere and dogged his heels down the hallway.

In spite of his fatigue, he showered and fixed himself a tomato and cheese sandwich. He even managed to feed the cat before it got all the way to Act III of
The Cat
from Hunger Dies.

Then he sat down in front of the television, but he didn’t turn it on. He just stared at it. What he needed was musical accompaniment for his misery—and he felt too bad to even pick up his guitar. He turned on the radio instead and searched for something in keeping with his mood. He finally settled on a tearjerker by one of the boy bands. Boy bands knew all about being big losers in the love department. He’d let them do his suffering for him, because they did it so well.

The cat jumped up on the chair arm and kept trying to lean on him.

“Beat it, tuna breath,” he said.

But cats weren’t put on this earth to follow orders, and it eventually settled itself against his side. He could feel it purring. He tried not to think of the day he’d gone to shoo Kate in out of the rain.

It seemed like a hundred years ago.

Another memory popped into his mind—Mrs. Bee talking about her first husband and the song he’d sung about the soldier praying for angels to protect the woman he loves. He had no problem getting with that.

Please,
he thought.
Just let her be okay. That’s all I ask. Please!

When he was pretty sure he’d fall asleep if he hit the sack, he moved to the bedroom. Sleep came easily enough, but it didn’t last. He woke with a start, thinking that the cat must be on midnight patrol again and had knocked something over. He raised up, trying to see.

Kate stood in the doorway.

At first, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. The room was dark. He couldn’t see her face. He heard her give a quiet sigh, but she still didn’t say anything.

“So…did you come over the roof again?” he asked after a moment.

“Mrs. Bee let me in,” she said, her voice sounding husky and strained.

“Are you going to stay over there…or are you coming over here?”

It was all the invitation she needed. She came to him then, lying down beside him. He held her tightly, stroking her face, her hair. He couldn’t believe she was really here.

“You’re going to have to help me out here,” he said. “I don’t want to jump to the wrong conclu—”

She stopped him with a kiss.

“Hold me,” she said, clinging to him in the darkness. “Hold me—” She stopped abruptly. He thought she was crying.

He tightened his arms around her. “Kate—”

“You were…right. I am scared. I’m so scared I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m…I hurt you. I didn’t mean—”

She was crying hard now, and he let her. She needed to do that, he thought.

“I didn’t want to…drag you…into this,” she said. “You know…how you are.”

“No. How am I?”

“You’re…
loyal.
”

“And that’s a bad thing, I guess.”

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated…to stick by me…because I…know you. You’d stay…no matter how you felt…about it. I care about you. The least I could do was give you a—”

“A what? A way out?”

“Yes!”

“Kate,

I’m
supposed to be the one to decide whether or not I want to bail. You didn’t give me the chance.”

“I know. I couldn’t. I didn’t—”

She gave a wavering sigh and pressed her face into his shoulder.

“Didn’t what?” he asked after a moment.

“I didn’t want to take the chance—that I might be wrong about you, too.”

He gave a quiet sigh and held her closer.

Amazing,
he thought. Sometimes women made perfect sense—once a man understood the particulars. Getting the particulars out of them was hell, though. Definitely,
definitely
hell.